Generations
by Ivy Kendall
Summary: Quite a few of us have noticed the similarities in the power portrayed by Sharon Raydor and another woman of power known as Laura Roslin. Might there be is a reason for that?
1. Chapter 1

_**Ed. Note**: Before we begin, I must set the stage. First, you must know my academic background is in Anthropology and Christian Theology, which lend themselves to the cadence and structure of this story. Secondly, you must know the idea for this story was first proposed on the Major Crimes board, where it was suggested by one poster (my apologies, I can't remember who) that there must be an historic connection between Laura Roslin and Sharon Raydor, but they didn't know how it would work. And finally, you must know that while this story follows the literary structure of the Genealogies in the Hebrew Scriptures, it is by no means a religious piece of writing. I set the task before me of creating a reasonable link between these wonderful characters, and now it is up to you as readers, to tell me whether or not I have succeeded. So without further ado, I give you the Generations..._

SHALARA

She watched from a distance, always from a distance, as the woman she would never meet and could never know, sat under a blanket in a grove of trees. She wanted so much to go to her, announce herself, acknowledge her existence to the one person who had always mattered in her life - and the one person who did not know she existed. What would it hurt now to say "I am your daughter"? And yet it would hurt both beyond measure. And so she watched from a distance...

How long she stood, she didn't know. She stood long after the woman was carried away, long after the Raptor flew off into the sky, long after she knew she had lost her last chance. A touch of her elbow was the only thing to bring her focus back to her own surroundings.

"Mama, it's time to go."

Nodding, she picked up her bag and turned to follow her own daughter.

"Where are we going, Mama?" the teen asked.

"I'm not really sure, Laurel. I told them I wanted to be in a larger group and that it didn't matter how far we needed to walk. I don't think it really matters at this point where we end up, just as long as we have the sky above us and fresh food to eat.

"So say we all", Laurel replied.

"Yes, so say we all."

Together they found their fellow travelers and headed out towards the great unknown. All through the day they walked, stopping only for the briefest of breaks, always pressing forward. Along the way she picked some flowers complete with their roots, so that she could study them and see if anything seemed familiar.

"What is your mother doing?" one of the younger men in the group asked Laurel.

"My mother is a Healer and a Priestess" Laurel replied proudly, "she is picking the plants to see what medicines they can make."

"Really?" the man replied, seeming quite interested. "What kinds of healing does she do?"

"What do you mean?" Laurel asked in return.

"I was just wondering... you see, one of the guys up ahead... see that man with the kid on his back? Anyway, that kid is really sick. I know my buddy doesn't want to admit it, but giving up all the technology on our ships means his son is going to die."

Laurel was horrified to hear that a child was dying. "Why would he agree to give it up, then?"

"I don't know. I think he's crazy, myself, but it's not my choice. I was wondering if your mother might be able to help him."

"I'm not sure" Laurel replied, "what's wrong with him?"

"The little boy has kidney failure. They had to clean his blood a few times on Galactica, but now I don't know what they are going to do. He's not even strong enough to walk very far on his own. I think his dad just wants him to see as much of life on a planet as he can, and then... I dunno... it's going to be rough."

Laurel nodded her understanding. "Let me talk to Mama and see what she can do. I can't promise anything, you know. If the gods want that little boy, they are going to take him and there's nothing we can do about it."

"I know..." the young man said in defeat. "It's probably already too late."

With that he fell back and left Laurel on her own to catch up to her mother. Throughout the rest of the afternoon's walk and into the evening, Laurel and her mother discussed the young boy and his illness. As the group settled for the night, the two women approached the boy and his father, needing to ask questions and offer their assistance.

"Excuse me" Laurel said quietly.

The man known to his friends as "Hotdog" looked up at the two women in front of him. He had never met them before and was wondering who they were and why they were looking for him. Both had shining red hair, curling gently around their shoulders, and the greenest eyes he had ever seen. They reminded him of someone, but he couldn't quite remember who it was. It was obvious from the lines on the older woman's face, that she had seen her share of difficulties, but hadn't they all? The younger woman, a teenager really, was by far the more earnest looking of the two, and was the one who spoke to him.

"Yes?" he asked.

"I... um..." she began chewing her lip, and looked to the older woman for support.

"I'm sorry to interrupt. My name is Shalara, and this is my daughter Laurel. I was a Priestess in the Temple of Asclepius in Delphi. During our walk today, one of the men mentioned that your son was quite ill and asked if I could do anything to heal him. I wanted to offer my services."

Hotdog looked at the woman for a long time, wondering if he should expose his son to a quack or just leave him alone. Nicky was already tired from the long walk and had been sleeping for some time.

"I don't have much use for the gods, to tell you the truth," he said eventually, trying to be polite.

Shalara smiled. "You are not alone in that opinion. I have questioned their existence quite often myself. Rest assured, I'm not here to convert you, I am just here to offer some herbs that might make him more comfortable."

Hotdog looked over at his son. Sleep was the only time Nicky's face wasn't screwed up in some kind of pain. He knew he shouldn't be moving the boy, but Nicky kept telling him to go further because he wanted to see it all. It killed Hotdog to know his son was dying and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. All he had left was trying to give Nicky what he wanted, and Nicky wanted to see what lay over the next mountain and around the next bend. Anything that could make things better for Nicky was worth trying.

"You think you have something to take the pain away?" Hotdog asked tentatively.

Shalara nodded and moved quietly to Nicky's side. "I found some Adolpha in the fields today. The roots were quite large and can be stewed for a rich tea. It will help clean his blood and reduce the inflammation around his kidneys. It won't be a cure, but it should make the journey more bearable."

"This ain't Caprica, though. How do you know it's Adolpha and not some poisonous look-alike plant?"

"That's a fair question, and I wish I could give you a scientific answer, but some things we know because of science while others we know in spite of science. I have held Adolpha in my hands many time and felt the power it holds in it's cells. I felt that same power holding the same plants today. It will make a difference. You might not believe in the faith, but even a non-believer has to acknowledge that many things in our recent journey didn't make sense, and yet here we are. We were brought to this planet to make a life. It defies logic that everything we need to survive would be missing."

As she spoke, Shalara's cheeks grew warmer and a breeze blew up from nowhere, causing her hair to flow around her face. Hotdog noticed the same thing happening to Laurel and he was amazed. He didn't consider himself a smart man, but he certainly wasn't a stupid one. Even as his jaw hung open in the face of a power he couldn't understand, he felt himself nodding and giving permission to this Healer to do anything she wanted.

Every evening Nicky was fed the tea, and every day he seemed to withstand the journey just a little bit better. Others were noticing the change in the boy as well, and came to Shalara with their own requests. One night while they were all sitting around the campfire, Hotdog finally got the courage to ask the question everyone wanted to ask, but were too afraid to utter.

"Priestess Shalara, where do you come from?"

"I come from the stars, as do all of you," she answered coyly.

Some chuckled at the response, but Hotdog was not put off. "No, really, where do you come from? You remind me of someone but I can't think who it is, and it's been bothering me ever since we met. How do I know you?"

Shalara looked at Hotdog, then to Laurel, and finally to the rest of the group. How to answer them without really answering them at all.

"Tell us, Shalara, please?" Nicky finally cut through the silence.

Smiling at the boy, she started, "I was born on the homeworld of Gemenon, as all priests and priestesses are. There was a temple there, dedicated to wisdom and learning. People of great faith gave their oldest children into the care of those who ran the temple, and in return those children were taught everything they could possibly need to know in life. On other worlds, it was said those children were sent off-world to private schools, and when they returned they became teachers and doctors and politicians. The selected Children of the Faithful were encouraged to live life freely and experience anything and everything. Occasionally babies would be born to the Children of the Faithful, and I was one of those. Because I was a child of the temple, I remained at the temple long after the woman who bore me left to return to her family."

"You mean your mother left you behind?" Nicky asked.

Smiling sadly, Shalara nodded. "Yes Nicky, she left me behind, but you see, she forgot I had been born so she really didn't do it on purpose or to hurt me. She was too young to be a mother, so she returned to her home world where she could made a real difference in the lives of others, and I was left to be raised and taught the same way she had been."

"How did she forget you?" Nicky wondered, consternation clouding his brow.

"She was led through a ritual that lasted many months" Shalara explained. "In the end, she didn't know me, so she was free to be the person the Gods had created her to be. She became a great leader."

"She didn't know you, but did you know her?" Nicky asked innocently.

"I knew of her" Shalara confirmed.

"Did she have any more children?" Nicky asked again.

"She had more than you can imagine."

Nicky seemed satisfied with Shalara's answers while the adults around them remained lost in thought. Laurel had known some of the story before, but hearing it surrounded by people who were not of the Priestly class, brought a new poignancy to the tale. For the first time she heard the words that her mother had not said... she heard that pain of someone abandoned by her own mother, and Laurel realized the pain for Shalara was so deep that when it came time to forget her own child, Shalara had refused.

While Laurel reflected on this new revelation, Nicky again approached Shalara with questions.

"Shalara, do all mothers go through this ritual when they don't want to be mothers anymore?"

For the first time, Shalara became wary and looked at the boy. "What is your real question, Nicky?"

"Did my mother forget me?" he asked quietly.

Hotdog was about to answer when Shalara raised her hand to silence him. "When you think of your mother, Nicky, what do you see?"

"Sometimes when I'm dreaming, I think I see her. She's floating on a cloud of stars and her eyes look as blue as the sky, and she looks right at me but doesn't seem to notice me. Is she forgetting me?"

"Come here, little one," Shalara reached out her arms and Nicky immediately scampered onto her lap. "Your mother has not forgotten you, she is with you all the time. She is in the stars, waiting for you to join her when you are ready. But she also sees your future, and knows you have had to travel without her. When the time is right, she will look at you again and see only your face."

"When, Shalara?"

"Don't ask those questions, Nicky. No one has the answers. We live in this world until it's time to move to the next one."

Silence remained around the campfire for a long time. Eventually people started to move away as the logs became ash. Hotdog lifted a sleeping Nicky from Shalara's arms and took him over to lie in the blankets they had been sharing. Nicky stirred just once, and hugged his father tightly. "Thank you for being my Dad," he said.

The next morning a new kind of silence descended on the travelers. Although it had been expected for some time, they were still taken aback when the news circulated that Nicky Constanza had died through the night. They buried his frail body on top of a hill, surrounded by the Adolpha flowers that had made his last weeks so bearable. The only marker on the grave was a piece of wood carved with the words 'You will never be forgotten'.

Hotdog found comfort that first night after his son's death, in the arms of Laurel. And for many nights afterwards they continued to bring comfort until that comfort became more. Eventually a new life was created. When Hotdog held his daughter for the first time, he raised her up to the night sky as far as he could. "See Nicky, you have a sister."

"What should me name her?" Laurel asked from her birthing bed.

"I don't know. I was so worried about you I didn't even think about this baby as a real person until now."

Laurel smiled. "I do have one idea. How about Nico'La?"

"Nico'La? I think that's perfect," Hotdog replied, cradling the baby in his arms. "We will tell her all about her brother when she gets bigger, and how she's named in his memory."

"Nicky's memory and that of her grandmother. 'Nic' is for Nicky, and O'La is for the women who came before her."

"What does O'La mean?"

"O'La means Of the Lineage of Laura. My name, 'Laurel', means Small Laura, and my mother's name 'Shalara', means She born of Laura."

Hotdog was stunned. Suddenly the mystery surrounding these women he had come to love had been answered. "Your grandmother's name was Laura?"

Laurel nodded, knowing he had finally discovered their secret.

And these are the Generations of Laura, mother of Shalara...

Shalara gave birth to Laurel.

Laurel gave birth to Nico'La.

Nico'La gave birth to Vash.

Vash gave birth to Anya.

Anya gave birth to Zarah.

Zarah gave birth to Wilma.

Wilma gave birth to Tarin...


	2. Chapter 2

Noka

... and Noka was born.

In her 17th Season of the Melting, Noka found herself trudging through more wet snow that she ever wanted to see. The Drying Seasons were getting longer and longer, but they still seemed ever so far away when the wind blew and the waters froze. She had finally been able to get to the cave half a morning away, and found the sick woman she had been caring for had died in the night, clutching her frozen baby. No one else seemed to care that she had died and only seemed to be relieved that there was one less mouth to feed. Noka should not have been surprised since this was the prevalent attitude. She alone seemed to have the gift of compassion when a soul was no longer in their body. The people often mocked of Noka for her funny notions, but when they were sick or needing help understanding the signs of the animals, they didn't laugh at her then. Noka was the Healer, like her mother before her, and the tribe felt happy that such a good healer lived amongst them.

"Did you see a bear?" was her greeting when she returned to the warmth of her own cave.

"No" she answered.

"That is bad," the old people nodded among themselves, as they sat around the campfire.

There had been without food for days and were all awaiting the return of the hunting party. During the Drying Seasons, the people could always eat berries and bugs and other small creatures, but when it was cold and the ground was frozen, they were all dependent on their warriors.

"When will they come back, Noka?" her uncle asked.

"I don't know," she told him, looking lovingly on the old man who treated her as a daughter.

"Use your sight!" one of the women snapped.

Noka sighed. Even after all these years, they still didn't understand that she wasn't magic, she was just a Healer. When she was born, her green eyes caught everyone's attention, along with her red hair. Her mother had green eyes also, but looked like everyone else in complexion, so when Noka had emerged pasty skins with reddish brown specks all over her, and hair the colour of sunset, the people took it as a sign that she was a Spirit who had come back to life. As a child, she used to have wild dreams about falling through the stars and standing on shiny surfaces that vibrated and hummed. At first she used to tell her mother, who explained she was seeing another world that she was still connected to, and where she would return one day. Eventually, however, Noka even stopped telling her mother because others would hear and make jokes about her.

"I don't have the sight, Tatna, I don't. If I knew when our hunters would return, I would be at the front of the line to welcome them back. Remember my Radic is out there too."

Tatna dismissed Noka with a wave. "If we don't eat, we will die. The hunters are doing their job. You should do yours to."

"What am I not doing, Tatna?" she asked in frustration, a conversation that seemed to happen every time she returned from visiting other families in their tribe.

"You are Spirit Girl. Your job is to call food to us so we can eat and live another Season."

"I don't have that power, Tatna. I can only try to help people with medicines. I can't change the Spirits."

Again Tatna dismissed Noka. "Your people need food. You need to feed your people."

Noka shook her head, and moved away from the fire, closer to the mouth of the cave. How could she get mad at old Tatna when everyone wanted to eat? When would their men return? When? Noka lifted her arms to the sky and closed her eyes. When will we eat, My Mothers? She might not be magic, but she could certainly pray to her mother and grandmother and all the women who went before her.

Quieting her mind to hear the words on the wind, Noka listened for answers that never seemed to come, but she heard something else not far from where she stood, and her heart started racing. Were the hunters back? No, it didn't feel like that. Slowly she opened her eyes to see what was making the sound, and found herself looking into two large yellow eyes in the shadows. Panic grasped her heart and she tried to figure out what to do. If she moved further into the cave, the beast might follow and devour the weakened ones before they had a chance. But if she stayed where she was, she would certainly be killed.

Think, Noka, she said to herself, think... what did Madee always say about the cave bhera? Think...

... and on the wind the answer came. "Noka", the wind whispered "cave bheras don't like your taste, they just want your home. Remind them who has the Power of the Spirits."

Nodding to the voiceless words, Noka backed into the cave slowly, and watched the bear intently. At first it did not move, choosing instead to sniff the air inside. But eventually it followed her deeper into the darkness.

"Yes, Bhera," Noka said in a melodic tone, "come closer and see what we can do for you. Come." Then in the same tone, only slightly louder, she spoke to the old people around the fire "Tatna, everyone, rise slowly and protect the children. Bring me a torch. Don't move fast."

Tatna was about to complain about the orders until she heard the bear's huff. Doing as she was told for the first time in Noka's memory, she rose and grabbed a half-burn log from the fire. The rest moved the gathered children and old people to the side of the cave as far away from the bear as possible. Tatna moved slowly with the torch and passed it to Noka, all the while keeping her hand on the knife at her waist and wondering why Noka didn't have her knife in hand.

While this was happening, Noka's uncle grabbed a spear and moved around the end of the cave to help trap the bear between Noka and himself. If someone was to die, it would not be his niece.

"Keep calm, everyone" Noka continued in her sing-song manner, "don't move quickly, don't speak, don't cry, don't make the bhera look your way." Then to the bear she spoke "Why have you come Great Cave Bhera? Have the Spirits brought you here as a sacrifice? We are hungry and cold, and you are the answer to our prayers. You want to sleep, don't you? We can help you sleep and you will never need to know hunger or the cold snow again. Come lie down and let us free your Spirit."

As though it were mesmerized, the bear stopped moving and stood looking at Noka. No one in the cave dared breathe as they watched the small woman and the enormous bear stare at each other. Time stood still as they all waited and listened carefully to her lyrical instructions.

Without changing the tenor of her voice, Noka alternated between speaking to the bear and speaking to the people in the cave. "Uncle, do not move until I tell you to, we must act together. Tetna, kneel down slowly and push one of the spears towards my right ankle, I want to be able to grab it easily. Bhera, please make this easy for both of us. If it my time to die, please go first so I will know I have fulfilled my promise and saved my people."

To her side, closer to the end of the bear, Noka heard her Uncle making a guttural sound in response to her last comment. Again in the same voice, she said "Uncle, we must not do anything to distract Bhera until it is time, just be ready to plunge your spear into his hind leg when I say so. Tetna, the spear. The moment is coming"

Along the floor of the cave, she heard the spear being slid on something soft, and felt it touch the outside of her right foot.

"Ready everyone. Remember to stay silent. Bhera, I thank you for what you are about to do. NOW!"

In a quick flash, Noka threw her torch into the bear's face, who in turn raised on it's hind legs to push the burning log from it's nose. Then the roar of pain was heard throughout the cave as her uncle plunged his spear deep into the hind leg of the bear. At once, before the Great Cave Bhera knew what was happening, Noka grabbed the spear by her foot and shoved with all her might into the bear's heart, then backed away quickly as the bear fell to the ground, pushing the spear even deeper into it's bleeding body.

For a long time, no one in the cave moved as the bear twitched and it's eyes began to glaze over. Then Noka started to sing again, but this time words of gratitude and safe journey as the last moments of the bear's life melted away. When her song came to an end, she again approached the bear, lifting it's massive paw in her hand and kissing it.

Tatna was the first to speak once the moment passed. "About time."

Noka just shook her head and moved away from the dead animal, as the older women moved in to do the work of turning it into food and clothing. Her people would eat and she was responsible. Now she would never be able to convince them that she was only a Healer and not a Spirit Child.

"Your mother would be proud of you", her uncle said as he came up and patted her on the shoulder. "Someone else is proud of you too, I think," he continued, pointing to the baby still hanging on the peg in the wall, safe in her basket of fur.

Smiling, Noka removed herself from the chaos and celebration over fresh meat, and went to her daughter. "Are you proud of your Madee, little one?"

The baby started to fuss and chew on her fist when her mother picked her up. Noka laughed, "You don't care that your Madee killed a bhera, you just want your own food." So she sat down on the nearby rock, pulled open the skins around her and offered her nipple to her awaiting daughter. As the baby suckled, Noka started humming to her and stroking the little girl's face. Bright green eyes looked up at her, surrounded by tanned skin and hair with just a hint of red. "One day you will be responsible for these people too, my little Zeff, but today is not that day. Drink from your Madee and enjoy your simple world."

And these are the generations of Noka, descendant of Laura...

Noka gave birth to Zeff

Zeff gave birth to Bali

Bali gave birth to Nunn

Nunn gave birth to Sloff

Sloff gave birth to To'la

To'la gave birth to Jain...


	3. Chapter 3

Agathe

... and Agathe was born.

"You stretch like a cat, my dear" Hesiod smiled to Agathe, as she slowly awoke in the beams of the midday sun. "If I didn't know any better, I would say you were a wanton woman spending far too much time in your bedchamber and far too little time being productive."

Agathe hummed in agreement, "I am wanton... and none knows that better than you."

Hesiod chuckled, a deep rumble that she loved to hear. These were the times Agathe enjoyed the most, watching her lover happily reviewing the parchments where his latest poems were written, while she enjoyed the feelings of satiation still weaving their way through her body. How she hungered for him when he was in the city, but now he was back with her in their small country sanctuary, away from the eyes that dogged him regularly. Back where only a few servants were around to witness their leisure.

"You are obviously well pleased with what you see," she continued.

"Yes, yes this is coming together nicely. Zotikos did a nice job with the letters. I really must keep him as my regular scribe. His writing is much clearer than the others have been."

"Let me see," she requested softly, rising from her couch and wrapping the bed sheet around her shoulders as she moved to stand with him.

"And why should I show this to you?" he teased her, pulling the scroll closer to his body. "Reading is not an acceptable activity for a respectable woman."

"Good thing I'm not respectable then, isn't it" she teased back, pulling the scroll from his hands and twisting away from him as she opened it.

Hesiod always loved their banter, and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her firm against him as he read over her shoulder. Kissing her neck lightly he whispered "My dearest Agathe, you are respectable in every sense of the word. You are my muse and without you I would be nothing. You are also the daughter of the best speaker in Athens. Don't think less of yourself."

"I'm the unacknowledged daughter of the best speaker in Athens, don't forget that part. And as for being your muse, what would your wife say about that?"

"What my wife has to say matters little, she is only for show and legitimacy, anyway. It's what I have to say that counts."

"Hmm" she hummed again, tilting her head so he could have better access to her neck.

Agathe continued reading. "I really like this part about Athena being an aegis-holder, you really do make her sound as though she were the most important goddess."

"She is, my dear, she is the Goddess of Athens. She is you."

Smiling, Agathe turned to kiss Hesiod. "I will forever be immortalized in your poetry, and yet no one will ever know."

"We will know, besides you are the one who should be held highest in this poem, not I. Perhaps I formed the words around the story, but you are the one who has created all the characterizations I've been using. Without you, this would be nothing. Where do you get the ideas anyway? How do you come up with such heros? You are the true author."

Blushing slightly, she pulled away from his embrace and handed back the scroll. "You flatter me. I just have a very active imagination, and sometimes I must think about it too intently because these gods and goddesses invade my dreams. Take Athena for example, she is more of a warrior in my mind's eye than any of the others, and she is willing to die for what she believes. I see her standing tall in her silver armour, sword held high, dark hair blowing behind her. No one will stand a chance when her wrath is kindled. And Apollo, he is always trying to make peace with the people around him, but he will fight if he needs to, making him wise as well as aggressive. He really needs a mate, however, someone who challenges him. Someone beautiful and strong in her own right."

"Just one mate?" Hesiod challenged, with a twinkle in his eye.

"You are impossible," she replied. "Isn't it bad enough that you fashioned Zeus after yourself and your many conquests? Does every male need to have dozens of lovers?"

Hesiod knew Agathe was quite sensitive about the place she held in his life, and pulled her close into his arms. "My darling, you are the only woman in my heart, and certainly the only woman in my bed. You are the mother of my most favourite child and many more, if I have my way. This.." he gestured to the scrolls on the table, "this is just indulged fantasy. This is what I do in order to make enough money to support you the way you deserve."

"The way I deserve?"

"Of course, the way you deserve. Think about it, by not being married, you can own this house and the lands around it. Your father might not be able to acknowledge you, but everyone knows you are his daughter and treats you with respect. If you were my wife, you would never be free to walk around the cities, you would never have your own money, and you would have no say over your life. I wish I could give you even more than I have, but the one thing I can give you is a voice. So what if the world never knows you helped me with my writing? I know, and the servants know. I hold you up in public as my assistant, Agathon, and no one is fooled."

Slumping against him for a moment, she allowed herself to be small in his arms and soak in his comfort, then she pulled back and stood tall again. "You do have a point, sir. Just as long as you promise that I am the only woman in your bed, and your heart, then I will let you fantasize about any woman you want."

Smiling, Hesiod stroked her arms, "Don't you realize, every woman I write is you? Strong, beautiful, capable of getting the better of men every time. I see them all with your shining green eyes and your brilliant mind and legs that never seem to end."

"Mmmm," she hummed, as she pulled herself further away and glanced over her shoulder. "Nice choice of imagery."

Hesiod chuckled again, then something caught his eye. "Only, I do think it fair to tell you there is one woman who has a stronger hold on my heart than you."

Following the direction of his gaze, Agathe furrowed her brow, then relaxed into a generous smile.

"Well alright, but I'll only share with her."

As the were talking, in bounced a young girl of six, strawberry-blonde curls dancing madly around her crown. "Pater!" she exclaimed, and leapt into his arms.

"Oh, my darling girl, look how big you've grown since I was last here. You are almost a woman like your Meter! And even more beautiful."

The little girl giggled, "Oh Pater, no one is more beautiful than Ma. Are you here for a long visit?"

"Yes, my darling girl, and what would you like to do with your Pater while I'm here? Are there dragons to slay or princes to rescue or maybe even gems to find?"

"Oh Pater, none of that. While you're here, can you teach me how to write?"

Hesiod looked at Agathe with an expression of confusion and consternation, which only resulted in a shrug and a smile of superiority. He continued stroked the head of his daughter, but never took his eyes from Agathe's cheeky grin. "So, your Meter is teaching you how to read? You do know that girls don't read, don't you?"

"Ma said every smart girl should read, and I am very smart, Pater. Besides, how else can I pretend you're always here if I can't read your poems?"

Caught, Hesiod closed his eyes and shook his head. These green-eyed beauties would be the death of him, he was sure, but how could he refuse their logic? "You are very right, my darling, but the problem is your Pater doesn't know how to write. I have a scribe for that purpose."

"Then send the scribe to me," she reasoned.

"I don't know if he would willingly teach a girl his craft. What if every girl in the world could read and write, what would happen then?"

"Then the world would be a much smarter place, Pater."

Agathe couldn't help her laughter. "Your daughter has your way with words, Hesiod."

"It would seem she has your wit, as well," he replied. Then as a way of distraction, he sat down on the large couch, and opened the scroll he had been reading earlier so they could both look at the words. "Can you read this to your Pater?" he asked.

"Can't you read?" his daughter asked, concern clouding her voice.

Hesiod kissed her head and smiled, "Yes Darling, I can read. I just want to see how well you read."

Nodding her agreement, the small family gathered around the scroll as the young girl read. Hesiod had to admit he was very impressed with how much his daughter had learned, and how he only had to help with the more difficult words. Then suddenly, she squealed.

"Pater! That's my name! You used my name in your story?"

"Of course, darling, how am I supposed to pretend you are around me all the time if I don't use your name?" he replied, echoing her earlier sentiment.

Agathe smiled as her daughter beamed. "And when everyone reads this story, Hera, the world will know your name." Then to Hesiod, she said "I do wonder about the choice in character though. The Hera in your story is not always... sympathetic. Why not another woman."

"Ah," Hesiod replied, "because my poem will show the world that Hera is a great goddess who will be seen as mother of the whole Pantheon. Everyone will know her and respect her power."

And these are the generations of Agathe.

Agathe gave birth to Hera.

Hera gave birth to Nike.

Nike gave birth to Alexis.

Alexis gave birth to Eupraxis.

Eupraxis gave birth to Pelagia.

Pelagia gave birth to Theokleia.

Theokleia gave birth to Diana...

_(**Ed. Note**: Hesiod was a poet in Ancient Greece. Among his many works was Theogony, which is the first full story of the origin of the Greek Gods.)_


	4. Chapter 4

Rania

... and Rania was born.

The smoke in the distance assaulted her nostrils. Destruction was total. Bodies of humans and animals alike where strewn everywhere the eye could see, old and young mingled together. Blood seemed to flow like an ocean, covering everything in it's wake and staining the ground where it had soaked in. The world was ended.

She felt the pull of the leather against her wrists and continued marching with the others tied to the rope. How long they had been walking and what their ultimate destination was, no longer seemed to matter. The wailing that had been such a part of their early march had subsided, now exhaustion threatened to overwhelm even the strongest of the captives. Occasionally someone fell, pulling everyone around them. At first they were horrified when their captors cut the person loose from the rope, then proceeded to add them to the body count, but now it was just expected and many wondered if that person wasn't the lucky one after all.

Rania refused to think that way for long, however. She was going to survive this death march as best she could. She hadn't managed to live this long on her own wits without having the desire to survive any adversary. So with renewed conviction in her ultimate triumph, she steeled herself against the pain in her arms, and continued forward.

One of the solders riding closely to the column of captives, seemed to notice her strength and kept his eye on her through the day. He marveled at how she kept moving without the benefit of water or food, though he had to admit the stench of rotting flesh could ruin the appetite for almost anyone. Occasionally one of his fellow warriors suggested he lead the squad, but Edeko refused, saying he preferred to make sure order was kept by watching the back.

Rania began taking notice of Edeko after a number of hours, and began wondering about him. He was younger than many of their captors, but seemed to have some authority over them. His horse was rather well fitted, unlike some of the others who rode without saddle or ropes, and his clothing seemed better made. Repeatedly others would come to him, and leave just as quickly. Rania knew enough of the world to know the language and clothing was that of a northern people, but which barbarians, she didn't know.

Towards the end of the day, the group finally passed out of the destruction and into fields still rich with grains. The stench that had kept hunger at bay was no longer present, making the captives desperate for sustenance. And yet they moved on to parts unknown.

Edeko, who had been traveling almost constantly beside Rania, rode up to the front to speak with the leaders, who in turn halted the procession. Dread ran it's course through the captives as they waited their fate. But instead of meeting their final end, the ropes were slackened and the solders dismounted to tend their horses. Edeko returned to his original position beside Rania and spoke to the group. "We are stopping here for the night. You will sit down and stay here until morning. If you behave, you will be given water."

Rania was amazed. Not by any sense of generosity, for there was none implied, but because he spoke her language. Who was this Gaulic barbarian? Was he a Vandal or something worse? And how did he come to speak with a Latin tongue?

Edeko must have sensed her questions, because he answered the unspoken inquiry. "My mother was once one of you, and if you do as you are told, you can survive like she did. Do anything to displease us, and you will die on the spot."

Getting down from his mount, he approached Rania, "You are coming with me." He stated, then untied her bonds from the central rope and lead her off from the other slaves. When they were a distance away, he spoke again. "I will free your hands if you would like."

"You think I won't run?"

"You think I can't catch you?"

She saw the dare in his eye, as well as something else.

"This is all a game to you, isn't it," she said as more of a judgement than a question. How dare he humiliate her in this manner.

"A game? Capturing slaves is not a game. My men would slit your throat as soon as look at you, but not because this is a game. They would do it because they have lost all feeling. They haven't seen their own loved ones in so long they forget what it means to have feelings for someone else, how it feels to have a home you want to protect. My biggest fear is becoming just like them."

"Haven't you?" she challenged.

"I thought so, but seeing you has made me realize I still have some interest in life beyond surviving to the next battle. What makes you so different from the rest of those women anyway?" he gestured to the group of slaves, all huddled together and crying. "You don't seem upset in the least to be here, why is that?"

"Would it do me any good to be upset? Would you set me free and return me home? Return my life the way it was? Return the people in my village you killed and the houses you burned and the food you've stolen? Would you get word to my mother that I'm safe and don't face harm? Could you even swear those words?"

"You haven't answered my question," he said quietly, cutting the ropes at her hands and sitting on the ground in a show of trust.

Rania didn't know what he was doing, but she hadn't survived this long without being able to read people. He was testing her for some reason, and until she discovered the reason, she had to stick close and concede to the fact that he held all the power.

"Which question in particular?" she replied.

"The only one I really asked, why are you so different then the other women?"

Rubbing her wrists, she turning to contemplate the others in her group. "Those women are the pride of the village, the future wives and priestesses, the ones who've been pampered all their lives. I'm the only daughter of the village whore."

Surprised at her answer, Edeko pushed harder. "Your mother was a prostitute?"

Smiling whistfully at the thought of her mother, Rania replied, "No, she wasn't a prostitute. She was the lover of just one man - the head slave of the Proconsul in the region. Unfortunately the Proconsul didn't approve of her only being with his slave, and the Proconsul's wife didn't approve of her catching the eye of the Proconsul. Not long after I was born, my mother was sold into slavery herself by the Proconsul's wife, and we were shipped to another province. Unfortunately, the stories about my mother proceeded her, and we had the dubious distinction of not only being slaves but also being asphaltic."

"I don't understand."

"My mother only ever loved my father, and as soon as he was free he bought her back and she returned to her original home where they were married. The owners she had were quite prepared to sell her into the local brothel, but she refused to be part of it, bringing disgrace on everyone. Basically, not only was my mother a whore, she was also asexual."

"Wouldn't her master force the issue?" Edeko knew enough about Roman law to know Rania and her mother would have meant nothing to anyone.

"Some things I just don't want to know," she replied. "At any rate, I was born free and stayed free even though I lived with my mother and helped her when I could. The woman of the house took a liking to us, and I was taught many things to support myself, so you see, I'm not like the other women over there."

"And what things do you know?" he asked, relieved to be steered into a new direction.

"Why do you want to know?" she asked suspiciously. Already the familiarity was disconcerting.

"Because I have decided to claim you as my own, and I want to know what my property is worth," he said matter-of-factly.

"Property!" she practically screeched.

"Shh..." he whispered harshly, jumping up to grab her arms and pull them together against his body so none of his companions would realize she had been untied. "Do you want to join the others?"

Rania was just about to explode again, but the look in his eye took the fire out of her protest. "I'm sorry," she mumbled.

"So, you have a little in common with the other women after all," he growled.

Her head immediately snapped up, "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that you haven't accepted your position in your new reality any more than they have, the only difference is you aren't crying about it."

"Do you want tears?" she challenged him.

"Don't be stupid! Of course I don't want tears, but if you are going to survive you are going to have to accept something, and that is your freedom is a thing of the past. Now, you can either acquiesce to my ownership or throw yourself in for one of the other solders, but mark my words, you will be the property of someone. And with your looks, it will not go well for you."

Rania felt a cold shudder up her spine, and realized her choices were few... two, in fact. She could either accept what Edeko was saying without protest, or she could be raped repeatedly by the others in the group. Not much to choose from, really.

Edeko felt quite relieved when he saw Rania nod her head slightly and stop fighting the inevitable. He knew what would happen to the other women, and he didn't want that for anyone, especially not the green-eyed beauty in front of him.

"Now this is how it's going to work," he continued, "this evening you are going to stay here with me, and as the sun goes down, I am going to inform the others that I am leaving with my share of the spoils to return home more quickly. You will then be put on the back of my horse, as a sign of my ownership, and we will ride away. I am going to tie you once more and you are going to keep your mouth shut throughout, is that clear?"

"And then what?" she asked.

"You don't strike me as a fool."

"I'm not. I'm asking you what I should expect. Am I to be sold somewhere? Am I expected to resist? Am I to be set free? Am I to be held hostage for another matter? What am I to you?" Rania looked directly at Edeko, expecting an answer.

"You were never intending to marry, were you," he said as a statement rather than a question. "You are far too clever and self-contained to be a docile wife."

"Women in my family don't marry, we work."

Edeko's smile came slow and calculating. He pulled out another cord from his belt and grabbed both her arms, then knotted the leather. Turning to some of the men, he yelled his intentions and was greeted by nodding and laughter. He didn't let Rania free from his grasp, and pulled her over to his horse, which had been fed and watered while they had been talking. Grabbing her around the waist, he hoisted her onto the animal, but instead of being placed behind him, Edeko ensured she sat in front of him, where he could hold her tightly.

When they were some distance from the solders and captives, Edeko breathed a sigh of relief. "That went better than I expected. You can untie the rope now, I know you've been able to since I placed it around your wrists."

Needing no further invitation, Rania made quick work of the offending strap and was about to drop it on the ground when he stopped her.

"No, don't drop it. If anyone followed us I don't want them to get the impression that you were freed or that anything happened to me."

"We aren't going back to your village, are we."

"You are quite intelligent, aren't you. No, we aren't going anywhere near there. We are going to head East and see what we can find. I am going to discover the things you know and you are going to discover that I am not a butcher."

And these are the generations of Rania.

Rania gave birth to Endo.

Endo gave birth to Audovera.

Audovera gave birth to Fredegunde.

Fredugunde gave birth to Ingunde.

Ingunde gave birth to Clotild.

Clotild gave birth to Marcovefa.

Marcovefa gave birth to Brunhild...


	5. Chapter 5

Svanhild

... and Astrid was born.

Svanhild looked at her sleeping granddaughter, still sucking at her mother's breast. "She will be strong. She is a good eater."

Ranveig, her daughter, just smiled. She was far too tired from just giving birth to care what her baby would be in the future, although she wouldn't admit that to her mother at the moment. Svanhild bore twelve children, ten of whom made it to adult life. Ranveig wasn't sure she would get past this one.

"Give her to me," Svanhild said, opening her arms to the new life. "The midwives have to repair any damage and get you cleaned up before anyone else can see you."

Ranveig just nodded and made an attempt to lift the sleeping bundle towards her mother, but she just didn't have the strength. "I feel so weak, Mœðr, like I could sleep for a million years and never care to wake up again."

"I know what you mean, my love, but you will wake up and you will take care of your beautiful baby girl when she needs you. It's all brand new to you at the moment, so take the time you need to heal. You have just been through a terrible ordeal and you need to recover."

"You make it sound like I've been on the battlefield."

"Haven't you? No man I have ever met would trade a hundred battles for one experience of giving birth. They aren't strong enough to cope with what we must. Why do you think the Valkyries are women? We alone know what it means to transition life from one realm to another. Men only live and they die, they don't understand what it means to pass between worlds."

"I think I would have been fine without knowing, too." Ranveig said.

Svanhild looked at her daughter, and grew concerned. She had helped at many births and women who survived the ordeal usually were strong right from the start. Ranveig's colour wasn't good, and she was still bleeding. Stealing herself for what might be the inevitable, Svanhild just smiled at her daughter. "Focus, my little girl, focus on all the things you will now be able to experience. You are a mother. There is no greater honour in the world. Odin himself has a special blessing for you."

Ranveig smiled and leaned back further into her bed, closing her eyes, as sleep overcame her.

"I love you, my daughter", Svanhild said as she moved out of the way so the midwives could finish their job. She tried not to read the expression on the faces in the room, but everyone knew what was happening.

Svanhild left the chamber where her daughter lay, and carried her new granddaughter out to their awaiting family. Everyone was excited to meet the new addition to their family, and see for themselves what the babe looked like.

The cheer from the gathering awoke Astrid, who wailed loudly, causing even more celebration. Her red face matched the swath of red fuzz on her head, and she protested greatly being passed from hand to hand in the bright light.

"Her lungs are good", Bjorn agreed as he lifted his new granddaughter high in the air. "And our Ranveig?"

Svanhild tried to keep the sadness from her eyes.

"Oh," he replied, nodding in understanding.

"Amma?" a little boy asked.

"Yes, Knut?" Svanhild replied.

"Will the baby come with us on the boat?"

"I'm not sure, she is so new."

"Was I that small when I went on the boat?"

"You were a little bigger, I think," Svanhild smiled at her grandson, remembering well the day she first met him. He had been born during a voyage to the Western islands, where his father, Svanhild's oldest son, had been quite victorious.

Looking around, she surveyed her family. Her sons and daughters with their own sons and daughters, had been busy preparing their boat for a new journey. The waters had been encroaching on their land for some years, and searching for new homes was the only way to survive. It saddened her that the land of her mothers would not sustain her children, but when the gods wanted to return a people to the sea and away from laziness on the land, there was nothing to do but obey. Riches to offer in worship were not to be found in vegetables and simple homes, they were to be found in the gold and gems which populated the lands to the East and to the West. They were to be found in battle.

Astrid cried again, and Svanhild was reminded of her immediate problem. She needed someone to raise this little girl, or Ranveig's sacrifice would be for nought. Looking at her youngest son's wife, she steeled herself and walked with the dignity of the Matriarch.

"Eirika, come forward" Svanhild commanded.

Immediately the family stopped what they were doing and watched as the young woman approached her mother-in-law. As matriarchs went, Svanhild was quite kind and generous, but she was also extremely deliberate and demanding of respect for her position as the head of the family. Even with six large sons and a rich husband to her credit, she was the one who wielded true power, even the power of life and death.

"Ya, Mœðr?" Eirika responded, keeping her back straight and her head bent.

Svanhild looked at the lovely young woman in front of her, and took a deep breath to steady herself. She did not want to have to take this action, and knew that speaking it out loud would make it true, but if she did not her newest grandchild would die.

"Eirika, you must take Astrid and raise her as your own, feed her with your own babe, and keep her always in the knowledge that you are her second mother, not her first." With that command, Svanhild indicated for Bjorn to place the screaming infant into the arms of their daughter-in-law.

Everyone around stopped, realizing what had just happened and what that meant for their baby sister, lying alone with the midwives just inside the family home. Svanhild's boys took off their hats, and the one who had loved his baby sister best, fell to his knees in tears.

"Is she gone now, Mœðr?" he asked.

"I don't know", Svanhild answered honestly. "When I left she was still alive but bleeding heavily. The midwives have no hope."

"How do you know that, Amma?" a small voice asked.

Svanhild turned to her one of her older granddaughters to acknowledge her. "Some things we just know."

Bjorn, in a rare show of affection, placed his arm around his wife's shoulder and squeezed her close. They had already buried two children together, and lost a third at sea. Now it was time to prepare to send their fourth child to the gods. "Sons" he said, "there is work to do."

Svanhild envied the men in her family as they dug a hole in the earth, they had physical labour to help them grieve. She had returned to her daughter's side only to see the blood still running from her face and out of her body. The midwives had departed, knowing they had done everything they could. Svanhild just held her daughter's hand, aware of the other women in the family standing behind her. All were silent and waited.

Astrid suckled her mother's breast one last time, helping bring the goddess to the gathering of women. By dawn, Freya had gathered the spirit of Ranveig, and there was nothing left for the family to do but prepare the body for it's part of the journey to Folkvang.

As the sun rose, Svanhild began washing the body of her dead child. It was a mother's last act of love and often she was washing her youngest daughter with her own tears. Throughout she told Ranveig stories of her childhood, the smiles and joys she had given her parents and the hopes they sent with her to the new realm. She promised Ranveig that Astrid would be raised well and know how wanted she was, and that they would all meet again in the halls of Valhalla.

Together they stood around the grave, saying their last goodbyes. Ranveig's brothers had done well, placing her small boat for the journey, with fresh food, salted fish and jewels. Some ruines were put in her pocket, spelling the name of Astrid so Ranveig would know her daughter when the time came. Their last act of kindness was to cover the grave securely for Ranveig's journey, then they all turned to board the ship to continue their own journeys on this earth.

Svanhild watched from the stern of the boat, not taking her eyes from the grave of her daughter until she had no other choice.

"Mœðr, what will Leif do when he realizes he no longer has a wife or a child?" Bjorn the Younger asked her.

"Leif no longer matters," as the calm reply. "Astrid is ours, Ranveig is gone, and life must continue."

And these are the generations of Svanhild...

Svanhild gave birth to Ranveig.

Ranveig gave birth to Astrid.

Astrid gave birth to Torunn.

Torunn gave birth to Yngvild.

Yngvild gave birth to Ingrid.

Ingrid gave birth to Dika.

Dika gave birth to Florica.

Florica gave birth to Nadya...


	6. Chapter 6

Tsura

... and Tsura was born.

Nothing could be heard around them save the whip as Tsura snapped it just above the old nag. They had been traveling for hours, it seemed. Days... Years... a lifetime...

"Not too hard, Tsura," her father corrected her, "we have to work with the horse, not against it."

"Ya Dat, I know" she said sullenly.

"What is bothering my Tsuritsa?" her father asked.

"It doesn't matter."

"Of course it matters. Even if I can't fix it, I know it matters, but I can't try to fix it if I don't know what it is."

Tsura looked sideways at her father, blowing a red springy curl out of her face.

Milosh watched his daughter. She was almost a woman, but she was still far too young to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders. "Come now, Tsuritsa, it can't be as bad as all that."

"It's much worse, Dat. I'm trying to spare you," she said with a heavy sigh.

Tsura's father tried to hind his enjoyment in his daughter's dramatics, but he failed miserably and laughter bubbled from him. Seeing her father's mirth just angered Tsura more, which in turn made her seem even more entertaining to her father. "Oh Tsuritsa, how you bring me joy!" he finally said, once he calmed down.

For her part, Tsura just grunted and turned to crack the whip over the head of their horse again, choosing to ignore her father's unintended insult. Together they continued traveling in silence, Milosh sucking his pipe and wondering what his daughter meant.

When evening came, they had arrived at the outskirts of a small town.

"Pull off the road and set up the Ofisa, Tsura," her father instructed, "we don't want to miss potential customers."

"Ya Dat," she replied, as she quickly pulled out everything she needed for the small tent enclosure, including the placard which outlines how much readings would cost. Milosh tended to their old horse then went inside their Vurdon to find something light for them to eat.

Before long, word spread of Fortune Tellers just outside the village gates and many flocked to see what they could find. One by one, Milosh gathered the money then led them into the small tent where Tsura sat behind her cards. She invited them to sit, had them perform the usual tasks, then proceeded to tell them whatever they wanted to hear. It was tiring work after a long day of traveling, and she was quite happy to see the last person, apparently satisfied with their reading, leave her enclosure.

"Dat, can I get up now?" she asked her father.

"Ya, Tsuritsa, but make sure you clean up everything before you get the night meal. If the authorities come by, we will have to leave in a hurry."

Tsura did as she was told, wishing for the millionth time that her mother was with them. "Dat, did Dya do this with a happy spirit?" she dared ask.

Her father's face darkened, as it often did when Tsura mentioned her mother, and he turned to walk away. She didn't understand why such emotion would run through her normally happy father, and often tried to catch him off-guard so she could hear something of her Dya. Tsura remembered so little from the woman who had given her life, but she did remember a woman who was happy, laughing, dancing whenever the spirit moved her. Her Dya would start singing for no reason, and always picked up a small Tsura to sing and dance with her. Life had been so good then.

Sighing with resignation, Tsura folded her table, chair and small tent, and put them back into their wagon. She had no idea how much money she had earned that night, but she knew she wouldn't see much of it. It angered her a great deal to have her father's love one moment, and then his contempt the next. She could tell the way he stormed off - with all the coins in his pocket - that he would find somewhere to spend most or all of their money before the night was out. It wasn't worth making a meal for him that would go to waste, so Tsura just ate some bread and cheese, and lit the lantern to better see the book she was reading.

Dawn was just creeping up the hills when she heard a knock on the door. Looking around she saw that her father had not returned the night before. Panic started to flood her, but she kept it at bay and opened the top part of the divide, in order to give herself some protection.

"Ya?" she asked the stranger outside, standing on the step of their vurdon.

"I'm sorry, you must come with me right now. Your wagon and everything. We must hurry."

Tsura didn't know what to think of this Raklo, this non-Roma boy standing outside her door. She remembered him from the night before. He had had a good fortune and seemed well pleased. "Why should I go anywhere with you?" she asked, pushing her unruly hair from her face as she spoke.

"You have to trust me. Your father found trouble for himself, and the authorities know where you are. They are just waiting for the light to rise higher before they come here. Quick. We don't have much time."

Tsura kept looking at the young man, not much older than she was, but didn't move.

"Fine" he continued, and got down from the step then went to the old horse.

That finally got Tsura moving. "What do you think you are doing?" she almost yelled at him.

"Saving your life and your freedom. You won't move, so I will do it for you." With that pronouncement he moved past a stunned Tsura and took the horse to the front of the wagon to be harnessed.

Finally finding her wits, Tsura stormed over to where he had almost finished with her horse. "Why should I do anything you say? Who are you? Where is my father? I can't leave without him."

"Look, we don't have time for this. I'll explain everything as we go. Now do you want me to drive or will you? Did you fasten the back door?"

"No one tells me what to do!" she screamed at him.

"Shh... don't you get it? People like you disappear all the time. Now get in the back or get up here with me, but either way we are leaving now!"

Tsura shuddered at his words. Yes, people like her disappeared all the time and wound up as indentured servants on the land or dead. She didn't know what was worse, but she knew she didn't want either fate. Without pausing, she jumped up on the wagon beside the stranger, and held on as he moved them onto the road.

"Will this nag go faster?"

"Not likely."

"We must get another one."

"And where do you expect to get that?"

"I'll take one of my father's horses. Two probably."

"Two horses?" she looked at him with concern and suspicion. "Who are you anyway, and how do you expect me to care for two horses?"

"I will help you. Don't ask so many questions, just do as I say and you'll be all right."

"Don't ask questions?" she looked at him in disbelief, "you obviously don't know me very well. Why did you come get me? Where is my Dat? Why do I have to leave? How do you know all of this? Who are you anyway?"

"Do you always talk this much?" he challenged her.

"Do you always steal girls from their wagons and take them on rides?" she countered.

Both glared at each other, waiting to see who would flinch first.

"Yuri, okay?"

"What?" she asked, puzzled by his sudden outburst.

"My name is Yuri, my father runs the tavern in the centre of town, and your father came in last night. It didn't take long to see he was a Gypsy, so my father tripled his prices. There was a fight. Your father will not be coming back to you and it's my father's fault."

"Oh Dat... he is dead?" she whimpered.

"No, no, but he probably wishes he was. He is in jail and will be sent to the workhouse. He will join the other Gypsies held there. They might tell him that he can earn his freedom, but that will never happen. Most of the men sent to the workhouse die there. They loose their freedom and then they stop trying to live."

"Oh, my Dat," she sobbed softly. "Oh my poor Dat."

Yuri let her cry while he drove the wagon towards an abandoned winter barn at the edge of town. He told her to stay there and stay quiet, then he unhitched the old horse and led it back to town. Tsura was not paying attention, so caught up was she in the sorrow of loosing the last of her family. When she finally realized what had happened, she was alone without any means of leaving, and felt even more desolate than she had the previous day. A few times she heard voices and riders pass the barn, but no one came near. She didn't dare light the fire in her stove or light a lantern for fear of drawing attention, so she sat in the darkened barn, scared and alone.

When night fell again, Tsura heard more horses and this time they didn't pass her by. She was terrified. She knew well the fate of her people when they were found. Many from the Kumpania had been rounded up and sold to the fields, forced to work the land for their food and given shabby shacks for houses. If they didn't work, they were killed. She had seen it herself a time or two when she was little, but always her Dya and Dat had managed to escape. Where other vurdons had bright paintings, her parents had painted the wagon the colour of trees and ground, so it wouldn't be easily seen. They kept away from villages unless they were in need of something, and always left after one night. When the novelty of palm and card readers wore thin, there was no telling what the towns' people would do. One day her Dya hadn't returned with her Dat, and he hadn't told her why. That was the beginning of the bitterness towards her mother and herself.

Tsura tried to hide in the far corner of the barn, hoping whomever it was would have a quick look then be on their way.

"Darbarni" came a whisper. "Darbarni, are you still here? It's Yuri. I have horses."

"What did you call me?" she asked, as she emerged from the shadows.

The smile on Yuri's face showed how relieved he was to see her still there. "I didn't know your name."

"But you called me 'Darbarni'. That is a Roma word. How do you know my language? You people usually just call me Gypsy or Fortune Teller." As relieved as she was to see him, she was also extremely wary.

"I will stop calling you that if you tell me your name" he replied, busily hitching the horses. He had driven his horses with a small cart, and was trying to unfasten the one-horse hitch from the vurdon then attach the two-horse hitch. "And you could help me while we talk so we can leave faster."

"Tsura, now tell me," she said, moving to the opposite side of the wagon to assist.

"I read Philosophy in Krakow, and I believe enslaving people is wrong, any people. My father is of the old world and will not change, so I must change the world for him. There is a group of us who help your people when we can. We give food, we alert them when the authorities are close, and we help them leave. I will take you to the place we often meet."

"And why should I trust you?" she asked, trying to figure out what Philosophy was.

"You ask too many questions. Just trust me, okay. I'm going to open the doors to make sure no one is around then we are leaving."

"What about the cart? Won't someone notice it?"

"No. My father thinks I have left on my travels, and no one will be in this barn until winter, long after we are gone. Get up on the wagon and be prepared to move us forward."

Resigned to taking orders from Yuri, Tsura did as she was told, and soon the two were driving past the fields around the town, with nothing by the moon to light their way. Yuri had thrown his belongings at their feet by the bench, and pulled open his lunch for them to share.

After eating for the first time all day, Tsura fell asleep on Yuri's shoulder. Although he knew it was inappropriate to touch a woman who was not his relative, he put his arm around her so she wouldn't fall off the bench. For three days they travelled at night and slept during the day. Yuri had been fascinated by the inside of the vurdon and how much could be found in such a small space. Never before had he seen one up close, and he raved about the intricate carvings along the fixtures. Tsura moved into her parents bed chamber almost immediately, accepting the fact that she was now the head of her own household. Yuri slept as far away from her on the floor as they could manage.

Finally they arrived at a small village on the outskirts of Krakow. Yuri had brought clothing for both of them so that they might blend in with the crowd, and so Tsura's status as Roma would not be discovered. Once their contact was made, the two headed back to the vurdon and waited, sleeping through the night as best they could.

They were awakened just before dawn, and followed a loan rider to an encampment far outside the city. "We are here!" Yuri announced, feeling both satisfied that they had made it and sorry that their time together had come to an end.

It didn't take long for the encampment to start awakening and learn about a new Roma girl who had just arrived. Curiosity filled every corner as people emerged from the splashes of colour parked along the lake. Everyone wanted to hear the news from the new arrival, perhaps to learn about the family they had lost along the way. Standing in the midst of the ever growing Kumpania, Tsura did her best to answer.

"Tsuritsa?" one of them cried out. "Tsuritsa, is it really you?"

Looking wildly through faces to find someone who knew her, Tsura finally saw what could only be the answer to her dreams.

"Tsuritsa, are you really here?"

"Dya?" Excitedly, she kept calling out the name, louder each time. "Dya? Dya!"

Yuri watched as an older woman with faded red hair, grabbed Tsura in her arms and spun her round and round.

"Tsuritsa, how I hoped for this day. The cards said I would find you again, but I didn't trust them."

"Dya... " Tsura said, crying into her mother's shoulder. "Where did you go?"

"Oh, my little Tsuritsa... your Dat wouldn't come. Your Dat wouldn't trust the men who said they could bring us somewhere safe. He wouldn't let me take you somewhere safe. He didn't believe anyone would help us stay free. He said he was going to get you, but he never came back. I have missed you so much."

Yuri watched from the sidelines, increasingly pushed back from Tsura and her mother, who had completely forgotten him. It was as it should be, he reasoned, and turned to leave, looking back occasionally to see the two women talking and hugging and crying.

A few days later, Yuri was at the same tavern in Krakow when an old friend sat down on the bench beside him. "Violca says you are to come for dinner soon."

"Who is Violca?" Yuri asked.

"She is the mother of a certain traveller whom, I'm guessing, you might remember. Large green eyes, wild red hair, simple dress, slim ankles..."

Yuri punched his friend in the arm for such an elaborate description, but smiled nonetheless. Dinner soon. That could be arranged.

And these are the generations of Tsura...

Violca gave birth to Tsura.

Tsura gave birth to Nara.

Nara gave birth to Elita.

Elita gave birth to Antoinetta.

Antoinetta gave birth to Blanka.

Blanka gave birth to Imma.

Imma gave birth to Katrina...


	7. Chapter 7

Charlotte

... and Charlotte was born.

She couldn't remember ever being this tired. Everything ached, even the joints between her toes. She stopped feeling her back hours ago, and didn't think anything would allow her to move properly again. Even sleep seemed something too painful to contemplate, especially given how few hours she had left before she went on duty again. It was for times like this that the term "bone-weary" was invented.

"You really should get some rest, Charlotte" one of the receptionists said as she passed by the main desk. "They say there is another battle brewing north of Balaklava, and you know what that means?"

"Another one? Didn't they just go on an offensive there two days ago with no success?" she replied, almost ready to cry from exhaustion.

"It doesn't seem to matter to these generals. I think they all forget these are real men and not wooden toys."

"Mmmm" was all she could reply. How she envied the doctors who could take a drop of Whiskey or Porter between surgeries, in a feeble attempt to forget what they were there to do. Unfortunately, women weren't allowed the freedom and had to be above reproach at all times. If the hospital work hadn't exhausted her, trying to behave like a Victorian Lady would do the job.

"They are saying this General Totleben is quite a brute of a fellow, and is well positioned to take over this entire part of the Peninsula. If our forces don't fight back now, all could be lost."

"He's only defended his position so far, stopping the advancement of the Allied troops. What makes people think there will be a change in that?"

"So, you are becoming a military strategist as well as a nurse, I see".

Charlotte rolled her eyes and sighed. "No, I'm nothing of the kind. I just think there is no logical reason for the Russians to change their methods. We haven't exactly been proving them wrong." Chiding herself to be more careful around others, she made a show of yawning and gathering her shawl around her shoulders.

"Well," the receptionist bristled, "I hope you keep the low opinion of our troops to yourself when you're on the Ward."

Charlotte nodded and moved on. She was far too tired to deal with the gossipy receptionist anyway, and really didn't care to explain herself. She did support the troops, but supporting the troops and supporting why they were in the hospital in the first place, were two separate matters entirely.

As she moved down the hallway, she was assaulted by a smell she hadn't encountered for hours. She couldn't help moving past the stairs that lead to the second floor dormitory where all the nurses slept, right past the offices and out into the grey early light. Breathing deeply, she leaned against the door posts and closed her eyes, thinking herself all alone.

"Smells good, doesn't it," a voice from the other side of the doorway commented.

Charlotte was too tired to care about propriety, and just hummed in response, which received a chuckle in return. Together they stood in silence, enjoying the fresh spring air that held just the faintest hint of lilacs and smoldering pipe. She felt almost giddy at the thought that life still continued outside the walls of antiseptic, stained bandages and cries of pain.

Sadly, it was not to continue as quick steps were heard rushing towards them. Charlotte didn't want to open her eyes, and was quite relieved when the newly arrived messenger addressed the 'Captain'. She heard him thank the lad, and the two returned to a silence that was no longer relaxing.

"Well, it's started," was all he said after a time.

"The offensive to the north?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yes. Most damnable thing, in my opinion. Needless destruction. Times like this I wonder why I'm here."

Charlotte opened her eyes for the first time and turned to look at the Captain. He was not familiar to her, which meant nothing as the true military staff moved in and out of the hospital with great regularity, but he seemed to share her opinion of the conflict and that alone made him worth knowing.

"Indeed, Sir, that is not a sentiment we are used to having expressed in these corridors."

"Humph, I'm sure it isn't. The physicians here are doing a good enough job, but it's up to my own people to deal with the real bottom end of this rot. You nurses see your fair share, and I must say you are made of sterner stuff than the average Lady back home, but even you would not be prepared for the butchery we see in the field."

"Would I not, Sir?" Somehow Charlotte felt a challenge being offered, and she couldn't quite place her finger on it.

The Captain slowly looked her over from top to bottom. Charlotte had experienced her fair share of lewd appraisals, but this man seemed to be looking for something else. "How long have you been here?" he asked.

"Does it really matter?" she replied. "One week is a year."

"Humour me."

"I am not being completely facetious, Captain. I arrived last autumn, but I truly haven't counted the days."

"Interesting. Most of the nursing staff I've encountered keep an accurate account of their time spent. What makes you so different?"

"I haven't the faintest, Captain."

"Miss..."

"Templeton," she supplied her last name.

"Miss Templeton, how would you like to go on an adventure?"

"Sir, I ceased being a child in search of adventure years ago."

Chuckling again, he nodded his understanding. "A challenge then, how would you like to be challenged outside these walls?"

"You intrigue me, Sir. I would quite enjoy a change of scenery, but there is the simple matter of my work. I am not my own keeper in these matters. The Matron makes decisions on all nursing staff, and she is not keen for any of us to leave for fear we will never return."

"Ah, yes," the Captain nodded, "Protocol keeps all of us in line, I dare say. Then let me ask this: if I were to clear your outing with the Matron myself, would you be interested?"

"Well again you have the advantage, Sir, as you have yet to specify what an outing might entail." Charlotte was starting to understand the question, but kept her excitement at bay. The prospects were too thrilling to entertain, and if they were to be dashed it would be even worse than never contemplating them in the first place.

"You strike me as someone quite perceptive, Miss Templeton. As you know I work at the front. Have you not a clue as to the nature of my challenge?"

"A clue, perhaps Captain, but the plain words would be much appreciated."

"We will be gone for some time. You will be alone without another female for companionship. If it gets back home that you were not with an appropriate chaperone, you might be seen as a scandalous Wench."

"You might be interested to know, Captain, that those things have been true in the past and yet I have survived the gossip."

The Captain tilted his head and stared her directly in the eyes. His white mustache began to twitch until a full smile radiated his face, replacing the creases of contemplation with the creases of amusement. "You are the daughter of Dr. Templeton, late of Guernsey, aren't you."

"You know my family, Captain?"

"Only by reputation, unfortunately. I had an opportunity to attend lectures by the good doctor during one of my leaves, and I was quite impressed with his modern approach to Anesthetic. Unless I miss my guess, you have been educated by him to be a physician yourself. Being here must be incredibly frustrating."

Charlotte sighed inwardly - if he only knew.

"Quite right," the Captain nodded to himself, "pack you bags, my dear, we're off to the front." And with that he turned on his heal and briskly walked towards the offices of the Matron.

Before she knew it, Charlotte was whisked off to a world most women feared and dreaded, a world of slow death, painful injuries, and furtive longing for a gentler time before war fever had consumed them. For months she worked along side the Captain, who refused to return her with the injured on their way to the hospital, for fear she would not return. The Captain had been most open in his assessment of the situation, as it would not be for lack of willingness on Charlotte's part, he knew, but rather for lack of permission on the part of the Matron. More than once the request had come to return "Dr. Templeton", as the Captain insisted she be called. Each request met with the same fate: fodder for the evening's fire.

Their triage facilities were of little substance, and it would probably have shocked the people at home on both sides of the conflict to know the medical staff cared little for the uniform and simply tended the fallen on their side of the invisible divide. When the calm after the fighting came, they would return the solders to their rightful armies with a tacit understanding that their injuries were probably enough punishment for being on the wrong side. The commanding generals often turned a blind eye at this practice, with only the occasional prisoner kept to prove their victory. It made little sense to assign men as jailers when they were shorthanded as it was.

It was under these conditions that Charlotte first met Vasili. He had been hit in both the chest and eye, and no one thought he would survive. Charlotte had tended to him both night and day for almost a week before he regained consciousness. No one thought he would survive the injuries, and the Captain had been willing to write him off as a bad job.

"Charlotte, my dear, I admire your tenacity but death is not always the enemy for these chaps."

"Oh George," she responded, long having gotten to a point where first names were in order, I'm not doing anything Herculean, I can assure you. This solder simply refuses to quit, and my oath whether formal or not, demands me give him all the help he needs."

George just nodded his understanding, patted her on the shoulder and handed her the cup of soup he carried. He understood that level of dedication more than most, which is why at his age he remained a Captain rather than preparing to retire out as a Colonel or Brigadier. At least he was still in the field, rather than pushing paper in some useless office.

The day Vasili opened his good eye was a particularly grueling day for Charlotte. She had not been able to save any of the solders who came to her. The only consolation for the staff was the injured were Turkish and not British. It was cold comfort for the doctor who dealt with the person and not the nationality. He had been watching her across the room for some time, fascinated that a woman was in a place of such carnage. Eventually he fell asleep, wondering about the Angel.

That evening, she sat by his bed again, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, after checking his bandages and being content that he was still free of infection. That alone would have amazed her, but she had come to the conclusion some days ago that this solder had more fight than the average man. He was on a mission to thrive, not merely survive. Charlotte smiled tiredly at her fanciful thoughts, closed her eyes and sighed in exhaustion. She was startled when something touched her hand, and looked over to notice 'her' solder was no longer sleeping, but was watching her intently.

"You are awake," she said with incredulity.

He smiled faintly and squeezed her hand. "Yes, thanks to you," he answered.

"You speak English?" Charlotte was quite surprise. The uniform he was wearing could not be mistaken.

"I studied abroad in my youth. Water, please?" and moved into a siting position with great effort.

Again amazed by the strength and tenacity of this man, Charlotte retrieved a ladle of water along with her bowl of broth. With her assistance, he finished the soup and laid back down for the first true sleep since he was injured.

Two weeks later, word reached the beleaguered troops that talks were starting in France. The prospects of returning home diminished the desires on both sides of the defenses, upsetting the Colonels who remained quite interested in fighting to the end.

"Why do they not just accept the inevitable," she felt like screaming, as she washed blood from her hands.

"I'm done." George was beside her, putting away instruments.

"What do you mean?" she asked, her upset replaced by worry.

"I'm done. I'm out. I am not going to be a party to this butchery any longer. I shall make inquiries about returning to Britain, and you my dear, shall come with me. I think we have both seen our share of hostilities to last quite a few lifetimes. I doubt you will be satisfied with what the Matron would have in mind for you if you were to return to that hospital, anyway. You are far too skilled to bandage other people poor attempts at medicine."

"You flatter me."

"I do nothing of the kind. You have earned my admiration."

"And what are you not telling me?" she asked him, having grown accustomed to his manner of complimenting her as a way to soften a blow.

"Your Vasili will not be part of the prisoner exchange tomorrow. He is an officer and as such will make a great show for our forces. Unfortunately he will be imprisoned for the duration."

"And you are telling me this because..." she was not shocked, sadly, just infuriated.

"Because there are many hours between now and tomorrow, and my military career is finished so I have no need to keep up pretenses."

"So when do we leave?" they both turned to see a surprisingly fit Vasili behind them. He was their miracle patient and neither was prepared to see him rot in a jail cell.

"This will be treason," Charlotte warned George.

"I'm not doing anything" he replied with a twinkle in his eye, looked from Charlotte to Vasili, then quickly washed his hands and left.

"He is quite the cunning old goat, isn't he" Vasili observed. "I wouldn't stand a chance with him against me."

"You don't know the half of it," Charlotte replied, already formulating a plan.

Through the cover of an evening constitutional, the two easily slipped by the guards and moved into the night, grateful for lack of moonlight. The ground was not easy to trespass, but they managed to find their way. After resting in No Man's Land for a few hours, the two parted. Charlotte returned another way so the guards would not see her, and she hoped Vasili would have equal success returning to his people. In the morning Charlotte and George dismantled their hospital, and left.

By the time they returned to London, the negotiations were moving along and peace was all but confirmed. George received his Honorary Discharge, being elevated to the rank of Lieutenant-Colonel.

"What am I to do with myself, George?" she asked, "who is going to accept a female physician in London, and with you retired I can't very well be your assistant."

"We are going abroad, my dear."

"Excuse me?" She was no longer surprised by his pronouncements, only amused.

"I am selling my possessions, booking us First Class on a Steamer, and we are off to the New World. America is young and needs doctors of every kind, including women and the battle weary."

"Why, pray tell, have you chosen America?"

"Simply put, an ocean away means questions can't be asked. I have seen a great deal of death in my life, but that does not preclude me from recognizing life as it grows."

By instinct, Charlotte put her hand over her belly, and cradled the life within, smiling that her dear George knew her secret and as always, did not judge.

And these are the generations of Charlotte...

Charlotte gave birth to Vanessa.

Vanessa gave birth to Elizabeth.

Elizabeth gave birth to Marion.

Marion gave birth to Sarah.

Sarah gave birth to Deborah.

Deborah gave birth to Sharon...


	8. Chapter 8

Sharon

... and Sharon was born.

Rusty looked over at Sharon's phone on the table and saw a name he didn't recognize. He knew that Sharon was in the bathroom and knew how she was about answering her phone. She usually took it in with her, but today she had been so focused on getting her bags organized to spend time with her daughter, she forgot to take it with her. Should he or shouldn't he?

As he contemplated answering it, the ringing stopped and he was mildly relieved of his burden. However the phone began to ring again with the same name. It was an invasion of privacy, he told himself, after all this was her personal phone. But on the other hand, there wasn't any house phone, so what if it was important? Again the ringing stopped before he had to make a decision.

However when it rang the third time from the same name, he knew he had to answer it.

"Hello?" he asked tentatively.

"Oh... Hello, I think I have the wrong number. Sorry." The other party hung up.

A fourth time followed, and this time they didn't hang up.

"Hello, this is Sharon's phone," Rusty said by way of introduction.

"Oh, it wasn't a wrong number." The giggle on the other end of the line was disconcerting. It sounded like Sharon but wasn't, and Rusty knew it wasn't her daughter, Jessi. "Is Sharon busy?"

"Um... yeah, she's unavailable at the moment. Can I take a message?" Four phone calls must have meant something important.

"Sure, just tell her Mary called and please call back immediately. She knows where."

"Yeah... okay... I'll tell her."

"Rusty, Right," the disembodied voice said.

Disconcerted, he took the phone away form his ear again to look at the caller ID, but all that was there was a skull and the name 'Mary'. "Um..."

"That's okay, Rusty. Just ask Shar to call me. Thanks." With that the strange woman ended the call and Rusty was increasingly unnerved.

Over half an hour later, Sharon finished what she was doing and came out to the main rooms. In that time Rusty had created quite the story in his imagination, and was increasingly scared for Sharon. Who was this woman who knew things about him and Sharon, but didn't given any information about herself? Why was she obsessively calling? If she was a suspect in a murder, how would she have Sharon's personal number? He had just about convinced himself to call the Major Crimes team and ask them to do some investigating for him, when Sharon picked up the phone.

"Oh, Mary called. Four times? And you answered it, I see. What did she want?"

"You know her?"

"Yes..." she answered, reminiscent of the way she once responded to Flynn when he was worked up over a case. "She's my older sister. Did you actually speak to her?"

"Well, yeah, but not much. She said for you to call her and that you'd know where. She knew my name. That freaked me out a little." By this time Rusty felt rather sheepish for the direction his thoughts had been taking, but Sharon just smiled in understanding.

"Okay, I'll call her back when I'm finished getting ready to visit Jessi. Do you have your things ready?"

"Yes, but I really can stay here. I mean, you don't know how long you'll be gone and it seems unnecessary to put Lt. Flynn out like this."

Sharon smiled again, but this time the sense of understanding had a very different tone. She knew a con when she saw one. "Oh, I couldn't possibly disappoint the Lieutenant now, not after he's gone to the trouble to set up a room in his house for you. That would be impolite." Check mate!

Rusty grumbled on his way to his bedroom. "I might be an orphan, but now I have two other parents who are even more overprotective." Then turning quickly to Sharon for effect he yelled, "This is what divorced kids feel like, being sent back and forth between homes. It's not fun."

"You adapt to change well," she shot back, "you'll manage quite nicely."

She loved Rusty when he was like this - acting his age. She always worried about him when he became too mature or responsible. He needed to be given back his kid years, whether he wanted them or not. And if she was going to have a partner in this parenting thing, she couldn't imagine a better one than Andy Flynn.

The departure at Andy Flynn's door was more emotional than Sharon had expected, and the look on Andy's face told Sharon he understood. He insisted she see the room he had prepared for Rusty, even though she knew he would have been thorough without her assistance.

"You've got all my contact numbers, Lt. Flynn?" she asked, knowing the answer.

"Yes, Captain. If anything goes wrong, you are the first to hear."

"I'm being an idiot, aren't I" she nodded, realizing her overprotectiveness was unbecoming.

"Nah, you're just a mom who's letting her baby go for the first time" he smiled at her. "Look Sharon, Jessi needs you, Rusty is fine with me, and I'm glad for the company. We're all in this together, right? Besides, it's important for him to know he has more people he can count on than just you. He needs that."

"You're right, Andy. Thank you."

Andy smiled and rubbed her upper back lightly. "It works in reverse too, you know. Do you have my contact numbers? If anything happens, you call me, right? If Jessi needs anything or you have to contact anyone outside the family, just let me know. Rusty isn't the only kid in this picture who needs to know he's part of a wider family. I mean, Jessi is just as independent as you are, but she's got one hell of a learning curve in front of her and she will need as much support as she can get."

Sharon nodded her thanks, gave Rusty one more hug goodbye, squeezed Andy's hand in mutual support and off she went. Once in the car she called her sister.

"Finally. Geez Sharon, if I was being killed would you have called me sooner?"

Sharon laughed. "Mare, you deal with people that are already dead. Besides, when you are in real trouble I hope you call 911 instead of me - I just deal with people after they've been murdered."

"Mmmm," Mary responded, "cheery thought. Okay, before you go to see Jessi, you really have to stop by here."

"Mare," Sharon said guardedly, "Jessi doesn't even know I'm rearranging my life around her, but she needs me right now. Can this wait?"

"Of course it can wait," Mary acknowledged, "but it shouldn't wait. I think what I have to show you will distract Jessi from everything else in her life. Please come over. You're in your car, right? No murder to solve at the moment?"

"I took the next two weeks off for Family Responsibilties. The squad will only contact me if something extreme happens, otherwise I'm on Sharon Time. BTW, poor Rusty was really thrown that you knew his name."

"I thought so. I was trying to make light of it, but he seemed really uncomfortable when I called him by name. Sorry."

"Don't be, he needs to know he's part of a bigger picture. When I dropped him off at Lt. Flynn's, Andy reminded me of that."

"Andy, hmmmm?"

"Not today, Mary."

"Okay. How far away are you now? I could hack into your GPS and find out, our you can just tell me."

"I'll be there in 15. Satisfied?" Sharon shook her head and smiled as her older sister giggled.

"You will love this, Shar. I promise."

Sharon had no further hints from her sister, not that she was expecting them anyway. Raydor women knew how to keep their own counsel. As she got closer to the campuses of UCLA, however, her curiosity started to peak. Mary was a PaleoAnthropologist, and always had some new find to share at family gatherings. The Raydor family wasn't exactly competitive with each other, but they certainly excelled in their professional lives. Sharon often wondered where the drive came from. It wasn't forced, it was just an underlying sensibility to use your gifts to the fullness of your ability. Often she thought back to their great-grandmother who had lived well into her 90's. Gremmy always quoted "To whom much is given, much is expected," and it seemed to grab the imaginations of Sharon and her siblings.

She turned into the UCLA campus, then headed for the Anthropology building. She could see her sister's Westphalia parked in the lot, and smiled. Ever a step out of society, Mary's van was now back in fashion... again... for the third time. Sharon parked beside the van, and headed for the building. Once inside she was directed to Mary's location in the Labs.

"Okay Mary, I'm here." Sharon announced as she rounded the corner and saw her sister. Mary was a complete throwback to the 60's, with wild hair and colourful clothing, and many of her graduate students made the mistake of thinking her stuck in a time warp. It wasn't until they started working side by side with Dr. Raydor, that they realized the had to work hard to keep up. Mary might have been ruffled on the outside, but her mind was a sharp as a tack and rarely did she let a point of information pass her by.

"Great!" Mary exclaimed. "I'm so excited," she gushed, "I've been working on this for months and when the pieces came together I had to share them with you. Prepare to be amazed!"

"Mary, I'm always amazed. What are you working on?" Sharon sat down in her customary stool and awaited the lecture.

"Oh no, you've got to see this... look..." Mary proceeded to call up files on her computer, full of pictures and data, and showed them on the larger board against the wall.

"What am I looking at, Mare?" Sharon asked.

"Okay, remember when I went to Tanzania for the year?"

"The site you found using satellite technology? The thing that looked like a village under an ancient city? Yeah, I remember."

"Yes, exactly. Okay, the city had been excavated a few time, the first through were butchers so who knows what academia lost through their stupidity. At any rate, the site was considered finished, and it was only through digital technology that the wider areas were surveyed as perhaps having something of interest. Look here.." and Mary pointed to a hill overlooking the town, "there seemed to be a single house dwelling, maybe two, up here on the ridge." Turning to Sharon, Mary smiled in triumph.

"Okay... what am I missing?" Sharon asked appropriately.

"A single dwelling in this over 100, 000 years ago should have disappeared completely from the site. The satellite technology can pick up human movement in large amounts, but the land won't show the impact of less than 50 to 100 people. The fact that this shows up is mind-blowing!"

"And... there's more, right?"

"Oh yeah..." Mary twortled, pulling up more files. "So, we dug and found a small home with metal mixed with organic compounds that could have been wood. That's surprising because as far as we know, metal wasn't invented in that era. Certainly not with the compounds we found on the site. But you know what, these ideas had to start somewhere, so we can simply excuse that as an inventive person. This, however, is much more startling." Again, more pages and images were displayed on the screen above them. "We found this."

"What am I looking at, Mary? A burial ground?"

"No, not a 'ground' because we only found evidence of two, possibly three bodies. One we can only hint at because of the soil samples. It was rather deeply buried compared to other burials in the area, which is startling because most burials of the era were shallow graves, easily lost to time. This one, however, held a male of some years, probably around 50 or 60, which suggests a Wise Man, considering lifespans were much shorter. We don't know much about him, just that whoever buried him had better tools than we thought existed that early in human history. Again, that speaks to the probability that this Wise Man was an inventor, practicing with Metallurgy we weren't aware of. I need to do more study in this for sure, but that's still not the most interesting part.

"The second grave was mind-blowing. We can tell by burial rites what various cultures probably understood about an after life. For instance Vikings were buried with ships and food to provide their needs, because they believed the physical body sailed to Valhalla, and the Ancient Greeks believed the body spent a time in Hades, which gave rise to modern Christianity's versions of both Hell and Purgatory. Members of the Iroquois and Hindu cultures, quiet unrelated, burned their dead to release their spirits. If a culture didn't have a sense of mythology, a sense of the afterlife, they just left the bodies to decay, so burial of any sort meant they understood there was more than just this life. It's fascinating. Anyway, this second grave was even more deeply buried than the first, preserving even more body samples."

Sharon always loved to watch Mary at work. The passion she had at solving thousand of year old mysteries for Science, stood as a stark reflection to Sharon's solving recent murders to give families peace of mind. And the bottom of both was the need to have answers.

"Do I have to ask all the right questions, or will you keep going?" Sharon asked with a laugh, which earned her a droll expression from her sister.

"Patience, little one," Mary told her with a smile. "The second grave was of a woman, roughly our age, again meaning she would have been a Wise Woman in that society. Again, time has meant there was little left in that grave, but finding anything at all was a miracle, so I'm not complaining. Three things that absolutely amazed me came from that grave. First was this..."

Mary put up a picture of a simple ring. When Sharon didn't immediately get the significance, Mary continued. "This is gold. There has never been a history of gold in this time or this region, and yet here the woman has a gold band, perfectly made. Where did she get it? Who made it and gave it to her? Nothing in my decades of work can help me answer this question. Even if goldsmiths were prevalent thousands of years before we think, none of them would have been able to make something so perfect."

"Is it possible the ring was planted? Perhaps another dig or one of your students wanted to impress you?" Always the cop, Sharon tried to fill in the blanks.

"That was my first thought. Don't worry, I've been around you enough to question anyone's movies," she said with a smile. "Unfortunately Carbon Dating puts this ring close to 150,000 years old. I've run the test a number of times, and always the same result. If this was planted, someone went to an inordinate amount of effort, and it still doesn't explain the quality in the first place. But even as amazing as the ring is, it pales in comparison to the woman herself."

"What do you mean?" Sharon asked, curiosity was getting the better of her, as she became wrapped up in Mary's excitement.

"I tested the soil in the grave and inside the remaining bones. The skull was actually preserved! This woman died of cancer."

"And... "

"Shar, the earliest recorded instance of Cancer is in Ancient Greece, almost 40 thousand years after this woman would have died. I am sitting on the evidence of the first Cancer victim on the planet!"

"You know, Mary, you are missing the obvious." Sharon kept a straight face as Mary turned to her in expectation and confusion. "It seems quite evident that what you are dealing with is, in fact, an extraterrestrial, having come to earth from a planet far away with technology superior to our own, and she died after she arrived."

Mary glowered at her sister, "Are you finished, smart ass?"

Sharon smiled at her sister's frustration. "You have to admit, my theory makes sense, and I solve cases for a living."

"Yeah... well explain this...," smiling in a superior manner, Mary turned behind her to push a few buttons, than returned to face Sharon. Slowly the process of facial reconstruction played out on the screen.

Mary could tell the exact moment the program had finished it's reconstruction. Sharon rose from her chair, looking as though she had seen a ghost.

"Oh my God..."


	9. Chapter 9

The face in front of her could have been a mirror reflection.

"Where did you get that?" Sharon asked Mary, as she pointed to the large screen.

"Creepy, isn't it."

"That doesn't even begin to cover it. Are you telling me there is a 150,000 year old skeleton with my face on it? How is that even possible?

"Genetics?" Mary responded, sounding flippant. For her efforts she earned Sharon's glare. "How am I supposed to know?"

"You are the PaleoAnthropologist."

"Yeah, but that doesn't make me a fortune teller or palm reader or whatever in hell I'd have to be to solve all the mysteries of the past. Personally, I think this is beyond amazing, but if it makes you feel better I can use someone else's colouring. The bone structure just looked so much like you that I couldn't help myself. Look, let's make her dark complected with black hair."

Mary pushed a few buttons on the computer, instantly changing the appearance of the woman on the screen.

"Ugh, that doesn't even look natural," Sharon commented at the results. "She still looks like me with a bad tan and unnatural hair dye. Change it back."

"Just for the record, I did try her as a blond as well, but it just didn't work. In a remote part of the hills of Tanzania, is the ancient remains of a woman who looks like she belongs in the Hills of Donegal. Now everything I know about human migration tells me there won't be a recognizable human species in Northern Europe for millennia, but that's what I've got. Now, do you understand why I wanted to see you?"

"Did you do a DNA test? Was there anything left?" Sharon was already clicking in to Detective Mode.

"It would match you, don't worry about that." Mary nodded as she shifted to her lab stool.

"What do you mean? How do you know?"

"Remains that old will have influenced countless billions of people by now. It's too far back to give anything definitive. Just being a woman will come with the same types of markers. There is no way we can prove genetics one way or another, we also can't disprove it, which is where the fun of speculation comes in."

"Speculation from a Scientist?" Sharon glanced at her sister.

"Of course, I'm an Anthropologist, half of what we do is speculate based on our understanding of how other cultures work."

"You said her DNA would have populated billions by now, so she had children then."

"Yes, she had at least one, maybe twenty, it's hard to tell. Once the body gives birth the first time, the changes in skeletal structure have taken place. We could see from her pelvis that she was a mother."

"Fascinating" was all Sharon could say, as she continued to look at her face on ancient remains. So many questions stirred in her mind. Who was this woman? What did she endure? What lessons of life did she pass on to her children and grandchildren?

Thinking suddenly about grandchildren, Sharon looked at her watch. "Oh dear, I should have been on my way to Jessi's by now. This is very fascinating, Mary, but I have to go." Collecting her purse and jacket, she continued speaking, "What do you plan on doing with your research?"

"Oh, I don't know" Mary sighed. "I don't know if I can do much. This flies in the face of so many of our assumptions of the Paleolithic Period. I have to do a lot more research before I can put forth anything with certainty."

"You will make it work."

"Thanks" Mary smiled at her sister, than reached for a large book. "And I shall, but in the meantime I want you to give something to Jessi for me."

Sharon looked at the book in wonder and then started to smile. As the oldest daughter, Mary had been given their book of family history, stories passed down from generation to generation. It contained the stories of the women who came before them, from their Gremmy Sarah, who have ferried planes during World War II, to their Great-great-grandmother, Elizabeth, who marched with the Suffragettes, and many more besides. "Are you sure you want to part with this? You might have someone else to give it to."

"Who else am I going to give it to? I have two sons. You have the oldest granddaughter, and anyone else is too young. Besides, I think Jessi could really use this now."

"Thank you" Sharon hugged her sister, and held the old book lovingly in her hands. "Jessi is going to love this."

They both knew how much Jessi had been struggling. Not long after finishing her Ph.D. program in Astrophysics, she had become engaged to her Mentor and Supervisor. Sharon had not been happy about her daughter marrying a man more than twice her age, but she knew how happy Jessi was, and Sharon would never suggest her daughter was making a mistake. Jessi and her fiance were celebrating the news of her surprise pregnancy on a long, overdue vacation, when he had a heart attack at sea, and died before he could be returned to land. They were all devastated, and Sharon had to watch her daughter go through the motions of life, devoid of all spark. The only ones at Sharon's office who knew of Jessi's pain where Lt's Flynn and Provenza. Louis knew how hard it was to watch your child hurt, and Andy just hated seeing Sharon torn in half by her daughter's heartache. It was one of the great ironies in Sharon's life, that tragedy faced by her family brought closeness and new friends. She spent more time with the men outside of work, which made Mary both happy and curious. Sharon and Louis were often laughing over shared family experiences, but Sharon and Andy had an additional level of connection, and it wasn't lost on Mary that Andy had become her sister's 'Go To Guy'.

"Okay, I've kept you from Jessi long enough," Mary announced, just as matter-of-factly as Sharon often did. "Andy has you covered, I trust?"

Sharon shook her had at her sister's smirk. "Yes," she replied in an exaggerated fashion. "Rusty is with him for the next few weeks, and Andy is taking time off to be available if something goes wrong. Don't read anything else into it."

"Yeah," laughed Mary, "like that's going to happen." Then sobering she squeezed Sharon's arm, "make sure Jessi knows how many people love her and can't wait to see this baby of hers.

"I will" Sharon smiled, then she collected her belongings, held the book tight to her chest, and left.

The drive from her sister's office to her daughter's wasn't long. Jessi had graduated _Summa Cum Laude_, and was already published by the time she defended her thesis, so it didn't surprise anyone when she was offered a job in research at a leading Aeronautics firm who often contracted for NASA. Jessi had always loved the idea of extended space travel, and was quite convinced she would do it in her lifetime. Sharon knew that with her drive, if anyone could figure it out, Jessi could.

Smiling at the thought of her daughter's accomplishments, Sharon rounded the corner expecting to see Jessi in her usual position in front of her whiteboard, but instead found her daughter barely standing, clutching her abdomen, and pale as a ghost. Her eyes were in agony as she looked up and uttered the cry "Mom!"

Before she could grab her daughter, Sharon already had her phone out and was barking orders.

"Breathe, Honey, breathe..." she said gently as she tried to help her daughter stand. Slowly the tension left Jessi's body, but her heartbeat kept racing. "How long has this been going on?'' Sharon asked.

"Not long" Jessi answered, still gasping for breath.

"Jessi, how long?" Sharon asked again, a little more pointedly. She knew her daughter well, and knew 'not long' usually meant 'I haven't been paying attention'.

"I don't know, Mom. God, it hurts."

"Yes, I know it does. How long, Luv?"

"That was the third, maybe fourth time. My back has been sore all day, but this is new, I swear."

Sharon could hear the ambulance sirens getting closer, to her great relief. No way could she have driven Jessi to the hospital, through LA streets, this far along in labour. Already she could feel her daughter's body tensing up for another contraction.

"Mom... MOM!" Jessi screamed as it hit her fully.

"Breathe through it Jessi. Breathe!"

Jessi nodded, looking down at the floor and tried to concentrate on her lungs rather than her pelvis, which she could already feel being pushed apart.

The paramedics watched until the contraction subsided, then quickly moved in to help Jessi to the gurney, and raced her to the ambulance, with Sharon rushing behind them, clutching both her bag and her daughter's. After answering questions, Sharon called Andy to tell him she left her car at her daughter's office, and she needed the book inside.

After what seemed hours, they arrived at the hospital. Jessi's contractions were close and Sharon had expected to see a head crown, but was told her daughter was only 2 cm. She knew Jessi was tough, but Sharon wasn't sure how much of this Jessi could take. When they were finally settled into a birthing room, Sharon took charge.

"Jessi, ask for the Epidural."

"Mom... no, I want to do this naturally."

"Jessi, take the drugs."

"Mom... no."

"Jessi, nothing is more natural than giving birth. Take the help from Modern Medicine."

"Mom" Jessi said, her eyes tearing, "what would David think of me for dulling this experience?"

Sharon smiled, and took her daughter's hand. "David would be telling you to take the drugs, Honey. He wouldn't want to see you hurt and exhausted, he would want you to give this baby the best of your strength."

"Your Mom's right" Andy said from the doorway, holding the Raydor Family History under his arm. "No man who loves a woman, ever wants to see her suffer." Looking from one set of green eyes to the other, he entered the room and kissed Jessi on the forehead. "We're all here for you, Kiddo, so just do as your Mom tells you and be a good girl."

Sharon and Jessi both giggled, until another contraction tore through the younger woman, and she grabbed Andy's hand. As it subsided, Andy pushed the call button, and a nurse promptly arrived. "She's needs the Epidural now," he commanded. Jessi nodded, and the nurse quickly left to return with the Anesthesiologist.

Once the drugs started working their way through Jessi's system, Andy took his leave with a sarcastic comment about needing a cast for his hand after the squeeze Jessi had given it.

"He's really special" Jessi commented. "I like having him around."

"Me too," Sharon smiled.

"What did he bring?"

Sharon sat down beside her daughter and opened the book on her lap. "Your Aunt Mare wants you to have this."

"Really?" Jessi's eyes got excited and Sharon almost cried. At last a sign of the spark that once inhabited her daughter's eyes before David's death. Hugging her close, Sharon put her feet up and together they got comfortable, looking at the book that held the stories of the women who came before them, while the monitor in the background marked the surges of contractions.

They read about Charlotte, one of the first female doctors in America. She arrived, already well into her pregnancy. Life was not as they expected in New York, so they travelled further west, until they found a town desperate enough for a doctor that they didn't care that Charlotte was a woman. Speculation always followed the relationship between Charlotte and George. She called him by his first name, which meant he couldn't be her father. An uncle perhaps? Rumour said he was the real doctor in the family, but he denied ever practicing medicine. He spent his days watching over little Vanessa while her mother worked.

They read about Vanessa, who spent years traveling with her Military husband through the land of the Sioux, recording their stories in the practice of the growing Science of Anthropology.

They read about Elizabeth, who thought nothing of being rounded up and going to jail for her belief that women were equal in all ways to their male counterparts.

They read about Marion, who ran her own newspaper and spent her spare time buying real estate. By the time she retired from the publishing field, she had a considerable portfolio, and had earned the respect of those who once criticized a woman in journalism.

They read about Sarah, who threatened her husband that if he enlisted for the war, so would she. He called her bluff and ended up being out-ranked by her when she passed the test to ferry airplanes. Her Superiors were impressed enough with her skills, that they sent her to England with the trips preparing for D-Day. Sarah sent her children to live with their Grandmother Marion, and away she flew.

They read about Deborah, Sharon's own mother, who was so inspired by the stories from her grandmother, that she decided to write them down and created the book of Family History that Sharon and Jessi poured over. It was the family's most prized possessions, having started with the diaries of Charlotte and the generations before her. With the use of modern technology, Deborah had been able to preserve and restore old pictures and certificates, and had been able to piece together hundreds of years of history.

The two were so engrossed in the book, that the arrival of the doctor to check Jessi quite surprised them.

"It's time," the doctor announced, and Jessi, both surprised by the ease of labour after the Epidural, and grateful to her mother for insisting, brought forth her very first child.

"Andy," Sharon said into the phone cradled between her shoulder and ear, as she cradled her new granddaughter in her arms, "she's beautiful!"

And these are the generations of Sharon...

Sharon gave birth to Jessica.

Jessica gave birth to...

Laura

**THE END**

**Ed. Note**: Sorry for taking so long to complete this, but thank you everyone who took this journey with me and for those who commented.


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